Cyanide
by Soul Under
Summary: Because happy ending's were never meant for people like us. Dark!Fic. Shizaya.
1. live without me

...

_and i wanna hear what you have to say about me_  
_hear if youre gonna live without me_  
_i wanna hear what you want_  
_what the hell do you want?_

...

* * *

.

The apartment is a mess.

Shattered glass from the mirror that had been slammed into; broken porcelain from the lamp and the plates that had been smashed over a blond head. Drying smears of blood decorates the walls and the floor, and there are few holes in the plaster as though someone had driven their fist through it at some point. It's all deadly silent save the sniffing that's heard here and there, and there are only two occupants in the entire apartment; both of which are located in the bedroom.

Orange and white pill bottles decorate the nightstand near the bed; some of the containers left carelessly open where they spill their contents across the wood; down on to the floor where the multicolored pills mix with glass and messy clothes. Several liquor bottles mingle with the tiny orange ones; a wondrous combination.

Pulling the tissue away from his face once it's soaked crimson to it's maximum extent, and a pale hand tugs a few more out of the box resting in his lap. There are bruises on his wrists, and he holds the fresh sheets up to a still bleeding nose; the used ones joining a small building pile of crumpled ones at his feet.

A flick of a lighter breaks the silence as a deep inhale is heard. The room slowly starts to fill with the smell of tobacco.

With his body covered in dark, purpling bruises – a lot of which are shaped like hand an fingerprints – Izaya lifts his marked face a little so he can look at the tanned, muscled back of the other male in the room. The blond has deep cuts and scrapes littered down his skin and arms, but they've pretty much all stopped bleeding. Izaya knows that the blond's chest probably looks like mutilated raw meat; he certainly went to work with his switchblade this time around.

They're both sitting on the king-sized bed with it's blankets and sheets twisted about; stained with blood and other body fluids. Izaya's up near the headboard, clad only in his black boxers as he wills his nose to stop gushing blood. It's getting quite annoying, to be honest, and his jaw aches from when Shizuo slammed his fist into it. He's probably going to have a mark the size of a baseball near his mouth and cheek by tomorrow; and his lip is busted at the corner from the impact.

Shizuo has his back turned to the smaller man; twisting the cigarette in his mouth with his teeth and tongue. He's already pissed the fuck off, but he's hoping the nicotine will calm his nerves a little. The moment that fucking maggot behind him starts talking, he'll snap. He can't put his shirt on because he knows that moment he does the white material will soak up the clotted blood decorating his torso; he doesn't really want to ruin his clothing.

The bed shifts a little bit and Shizuo can both hear and feel the movement behind him; a brief moment later the battered brunet enters his line of vision and Shizuo has to will himself not to act out again. He grips his fingers into the bedsheets and bites down on his cigarette. Getting arrested for murder wasn't exactly something he wanted to experience.

He watches the maggot pick around on the floor for a few minutes; weeding out his clothing from the mess they've created. His long-sleeved shirt is in shreds and his pant's are completely ripped open. The only thing that actually managed to stay in tact was is stupid fucking girly coat; even if the white fur trim was mussed with flaked and drying claret.

Deciding he can't really take much more of having the informant in his sight; Shizuo abruptly stands and stalks towards his bathroom with irritated strides. Once he's inside with the light flicked on, he makes sure to lock the door behind him and he grids his half-finished cigarette out on the dingy wall beside him. The florescent light above flickers and sputters a few times every other minute or so; but that's what happens when you live in a shitty apartment on the bad side of town.

He avoids looking in the mirror as he strips himself of his bloodied pants and boxers, thinking about what kind of excuse he should use when he has to take them to the dry cleaners so his uniform doesn't have stains. His hands are a bit jerky with frustration and built up aggression, but he manages to successfully turn on the shower tap to a rather reasonable temperature before climbing in beneath the spray. The shower-head is a bit rusted around the tips, but the water is relatively clean, and he cannot remember the last time he replaced the curtain. It looks just as filthy as most everything else he owns.

A slight hiss escapes his lips; the mixture of sweat and water stinging the deep cuts that are littered across the expanse of his torso, but he instantly blocks it out until he can't feel it anymore. Pain was easy for him to disregard; his body had it's own little set up defense against it.

Shizuo lowers his head a little; hand braced on the tiled wall before him as he's leaning forward, and he watches blankly at the deluded red and pink rivulets that the drain swallows down. Watches as his blood mixes with the water; spiraling down his skin in a rather morbid fashion.

He lightly scrubs himself clean; rinsing away all of the gore and sweat in less time than he'd originally thought. The waters turning a bit icy in contrast but he doesn't particularly care because it feels soothing against the welts and slashes he's been decorated with. They've all clotted over a while ago, and with the rapid recovery rate his body has, he doesn't think it'll really take long for them to scab over and heal. Maybe a few days – a week at most.

Shizuo yanks the shower curtain open once he's turned off the tap, and grabs at the towel hanging messily on the rack to his left. He gives his head a quick shake to muss out as much water from his hair as he feels the need to, and wraps the gritty towel around his waist where he holds it closed with one hand. He's still dripping wet all over the tiled floor, but he doesn't care about water stains so it doesn't really matter.

Kicking his dirty clothes to the side as he makes his way out of the door; he makes a mental note to gather them up tonight so he can get them laundered. He makes it back into his bedroom and his movements halt to a stop in the doorway when he see's Izaya sitting back on the bed again; still wearing only his boxers while he picks dried blood from underneath his nails.

"...Why are you still fucking here?" The blond demands, because Shizuo Heiwajima doesn't ask the informant questions – he demands answers.

"You ruined my clothes." Izaya states like it's the most obvious thing in the world; not looking up from his fingers to address the other properly.

"So? Get the fuck out of my apartment." Shizuo retorts as he moves to one of his dressers; intent on digging out some jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual bartender uniform. He has no intent on going anywhere today.

Izaya merely leans back against the headboard, one leg stretched out before him while the other hangs off the bed, his foot brushing the carpet. He doesn't say anything more as he takes his time watching the blond dress with sharp, dark red eyes. He still doesn't move as Shizuo pulls his jeans up and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress before him, tugging on a dark gray shirt as he taps out a fresh cigarette from the pack at that sat half-crushed on the floor.

Letting out a sigh, the brunet doesn't wait for the dept collector to speak again as he finally raises himself to his feet. It hurts a bit to walk, but he knows that tomorrow he'll feel like he'd been hit by a train – and that was perfectly alright with him. In fact, he was looking forward to it. Pain to him was always delicious, and he can't stop himself from tonguing at his busted lip in thought. All he can taste in his mouth is blood and tobacco.

Shizuo smokes in silence as he watches the other move; padding past him without showing an ounce of physical pain. Izaya stops in the doorway so he's facing out in the hall, and the blond takes the small moment to let his eyes scan over the deep bruising across pale skin, and the blood that's slicked down the brunets thighs; now mostly covered by his black boxers. A sense of accomplishment flutters inside him a little – he was hoping that he'd broken some bones this time, but by the way the informant is moving he doesn't seem to have any breaks.

How disappointing.

"I'm using your shower." Izaya states as he turns himself a little so he leaning lightly against the door-frame to the bedroom.

Shizuo grits his teeth and he can feel his bedsheets starting to rip in his fists. "No, you're fucking not." He corrects as though the smaller man had spoken his words by mistake; didn't fully realize what he was saying.

"Yes, I am." The informant snaps right back; his tone is light but the words are much to biting and his eyes are much too sharp.

Huffing out a bit of white smoke, Shizuo tugs the cigarette from his lips as he glares at the other man; thinking his next move. "¥ 7,000,000."

"...What the hell does that mean?"

"¥ 7,000,000 should be enough to cover all the damage that's been done. Pay up and you can shower."

It's almost funny to the informant – sometimes he forgets that Shizuo can be just as fucking manipulative and twisted as he is. That was probably one of the roots to their hostility; both of them being like ends of the same magnet so they can do nothing but repel each other with sick disgust. God, he wants to kill that fucking blond shithead so bad.

Izaya bares his teeth for a moment, not at all impressed by the others disposition. "In addition to the shower, I get to keep a pair of your clothes to wear home, seeing as you destroyed mine with your cavemen tendencies."

"Fine."

"I get to pick out the clothes."

"...Fine."

The nonchalance is pissing him off, but he knows the blond is only doing it on purpose. He knows Shizuo's anger is likely so flared that it's bordering on homicidal. But that's alright – that was good; he wanted the dept collector mad at him. He relished in the way the other acted when his sanity snapped; just as he knows the blond gets off on the fact that he does. Such a twisted relationship; but Izaya couldn't deny that it was fucking suffocating.

"We'll stop by an ATM after I'm dressed."

After nearly five years of this shit, it was killing them both.

Listening to the brunet shuffle about in the hallway, Shizuo can see his shadow shift and move against the bedroom door. Stupid fucker. The blond bites down irritably on his cigarette before he leans back; reaching idly to grab one of the assortment of pill bottles decorating his nightstand. Snatching up one that was relatively full and popped the cap off with the thumb of the hand that held it, removing his cigarette just long enough to swallow down a few percocet. Anything to settle his nerves.

Shizuo closes his eyes as he hears the bathroom door slam shut; falls back against the stained and ruined sheets on his bed while he waits for the painkiller to kick in. He reaches a hand up to pluck the cigarette from his mouth so he can hold it off to the side, arm hanging off the bed as white smoke rolls from his lips. He has to tilt his head a little because the bright sunshine streaming through his window is blinding him a bit. Mocha eyes scan the ceiling above; imagining the shapes that all of the dirty marks on the paint make.

He's fucking sick of this whole situation.

.

* * *

_for your own protection_

* * *

.

Shizuo thinks – no; he _knows_ there's something wrong with him.

There was never anything loving and soft between him and Izaya. It was always hard and rough; always a game to see who could bleed more. Who could _hurt_ more – this twisted little mockery of a relationship that was shielded from the outside public. Their injuries could always be blamed on fights, and it's not a complete lie. After all, the two of them fuck just like they fight.

He'd never been in a relationship with anyone – never actually slept with anyone other than the one person on the planet he can't stand. Why? It had nothing to do with his appearance – he was regarded as model material by many; even approached by many talent scouts in his life.

It was all his temper – his strength. He was always afraid of hurting people; hell, he couldn't tap someone without giving them a bruise; couldn't hold a hand without breaking bones. Sex just wasn't for him – not that anyone would want him with his short temper.

But then there's Izaya.

Fucking maggot got off on his abuse and found his flared temper endlessly entertaining. There was no one else, and Shizuo was only human; not like he could resist anyway.

Izaya was the one who instigated it all; the one who came onto him first, even if he was wired on the fucking coke he snorted at the back of some club. They were about twenty back then and the blond was serving drinks at the bar of the trashy club that the flea liked to get shit-faced at.

Shizuo couldn't even recall just how it happened – one minute he was doing his job, and the next he was in the grungy bathroom with his enemies legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked him into the gritty wall. The light blinked and flickered with the pounding music outside, and the brunet's pupils were constricted into little dots from the drugs pumping through his system.

There was nothing romantic about it; it was dirty and quick and all over in less than ten minutes. Then he's slumped against the disgusting wall with his pants undone while he watched the brunet collect himself while snickering out a few insults and predictable lines. Then – Izaya's gone. Just like that while Shizuo tries and fails to figure out _what the fuck just happened._

He didn't see Izaya for nearly two months after that. Next thing he knows, though; he's getting arrested for some false shit he didn't do because the prick wanted to jerk him around yet again.

Once he was released the next day with his charges cleared; after he's sitting at home pissed the fuck off because he got fired from his job – Izaya comes banging on his door with that typical shit eating grin that Shizuo wants to cut off the informants face. Then it started; the entry point in their sadistic and artificial relationship. It started the moment the blond drug the informant into his apartment where they could bring their hatred to an all new level; the playing field had been altered.

Shizuo has a lot of regrets in life; but that one tops above all else.

He wishes he would have punched Izaya in the face that day; beat him, kill him – anything other than pulling him into his apartment. It's his fault that they're where they are now, and it hurts him to think about it.

.

* * *

_nobody broke your heart_

* * *

.

Izaya hates Shizuo's apartment.

It's dilapidated, dingy and all too small. There is no air conditioning and the heater only works half of the time, which means you've got to bundle up in clothes during the winter time because the insulation isn't all that great. The blond doesn't seem to grasp the idea of cleanliness; he always keeps shit tossed around on the floor and almost never puts anything away. There's always a punch of empty liquor bottles laying around with crushed out cigarettes, and it's like living in a frat house.

To Izaya; it's a complete shithole.

But that's where he finds himself; alone and sprawled across the king-sized mattress in the single bedroom. The blankets and sheets are clean of their last rendezvous; but there's still several marks of dried blood on the walls; he makes a mental note to bitch the blond out about it later. He doesn't really know why he's here – why he always caves and comes back. But, he's not the only one. If he stays away then Shizuo always comes to him. It's fucking smothering and they can't seem to keep away.

Maybe it was something with their chemistry. But – this wasn't love. It was far from anything sweet and cuddly – it was hate that had escalated into a new sort of expression. The sex was always painful for both of them; but that's what got them off, it seemed. There was always a consistent amount of bleeding and bruising from both parties; damaging each other equally, but it was driving Izaya nuts.

He didn't work today; called Namie to tell her that is was something akin to a short vacation – take the rest of the week off because he simply didn't feel up to it, lately. He didn't really have it in him to manipulate and spin people around; didn't have it in him to be his cunning and provocative self.

Shizuo was wearing him down – physically, mentally, and emotionally. Yet, seeing as he was the one who decided to invite himself into the blond's apartment while the man wasn't home; it was enough to prove just how much of a masochistic he truly was.

His mind is completely blank; empty and filled with static. He feels completely focused and alert; yet inside he's docile and unfeeling – like a zombie. Wide awake yet too apathetic and hollow to do anything more than just _lay_ there.

A light meowing makes him tilt his head in the direction of the noise; staring disinterestedly at the window. He knew right off the bat what it was; a small calico cat down below keening for attention. That was the stupid stray cat Shizuo liked to feed and pet on; he once heard the blond call it 'Cali' which was obviously short for it's breed name. Zero creativity, that one.

He's been laying on the dept collectors bed for the better part of the day; and the alarm clock sitting next to some empty pill and liquor bottles told him that it's ranging close to 4pm.

Shizuo didn't start using, or drinking excessively until after their faulty relationship began. Which was funny, because; Izaya didn't start using or drinking until he couldn't take their game of cat and mouse anymore.

Izaya slides his gaze towards the hallway from where he lay still; he heard the apartment door knock open with a bit of rustling as a person softly cursed to themselves.

Footsteps sound in the dead silence that the brunet had maintained until finally Shizuo appears in the doorway to the bedroom; already in the process of removing his vest and bow-tie before his movements halt. The blond growls softly, tugging the material from his neck with irritation as he glares at the brunet sprawled across his mattress like dead weight. Izaya's expression is rather blank; pupils dilated as he blinks slowly here and there.

Not bothering to ask _what the fuck he was doing in _his_ apartment_, Shizuo takes a heavy seat on the edge of the bed so he's faced away from the other man. After all these years; it's getting more and more predictable.

"What're you on?" The blond grunts out by way of curiosity as he digs into his pants pocket for yet another cigarette.

"Adderall," Izaya murmurs back in a flat tone; shifting his gaze back to the ceiling above him. A small, hollow sound laugh titters past his lips for a moment, but the lack of smile and amusement in his eyes make it seem all the more empty. "Hey, Shizu-chan," he says and his voice is barely above a whisper; as if he couldn't be bothered to speak any louder than that. "...feel my heart. It's beating so fast..." The action clearly takes him a lot of effort and will, but he reaches lazily out the the blond to take loose hold of his wrist.

"I don't want to feel your fucking heart," the dept collector growls back, but he doesn't tug his hand away when Izaya drags it towards him. The brunet lays it on his chest, and sure enough he can feel the organ beating much too fast, and much to hard.

The informant doesn't make another move after that, opting instead to lay still and listen to the thumping in his own body while he stares blankly at the ceiling, and Shizuo rolls his eyes. He tugs his hand away from the man, glaring irritatedly at him form the corner of his eyes.

"How much did you take?"

Izaya remains completely still save the way he's tapping his index finger over his heart in a steady rhythm; mirroring his own quickened heart-rate. "One-hundred-seventy-five milligrams..."

Shizuo grunts a little at the response, looking away to another part of the room so he didn't have to be greeted with the sight of such a drugged up and pathetic looking Izaya. "I'm not taking you to the hospital if you O.D," he states but can't deny the way he feels pissed at the others action. He leans back a little bit so he can dig his cigarettes from his front pocket. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I think that..." The brunet turns his head just a little bit so he can face the dept collector head on; blinking slowly every now and then. He sort of feels like he's not getting enough oxygen in his body; not breathing enough.

"...being with you is making me crazy." Izaya finishes; his answer completely honest..

.

* * *

_you broke your own_

* * *

.

Two weeks later, Izaya constructs a plan.

This cannot go on any longer; he can't take it. Their toxicity is getting to the point that it's fraying him apart – he's been drinking more; often too drunk to do any sort of worth-while work. Many of his clients are beginning to think he's going crazy to real this time, and he can do nothing to prove them wrong, because – it's true. He sets things on a hiatus; prolonging the tiny vacation he had announced he'd been taking, and decides he'll take time off until further notice. Namie's pissed beyond comprehension, but Izaya doesn't really give a fuck.

He's been at Shizuo's apartment pretty frequently over the past few weeks; and it's where he finds himself yet again. Though, this time everything is different. He's not playing this game anymore – not letting that blond ingrate twist him any further. Izaya is stretched to his limit; a thin little string that's daring to snap if it's pulled on anymore. He sorta feels like his psyche is made up of broken glass – all mismatched and aligned; broken pieces that won't fit properly, so they're stuck together with tape and cheap glue.

Izaya smooths his hand across his mouth; crimson eyes watching through the dark bedroom. The moonlight streaming through the window acts as the only form of illumination, as it spills across the bed in shifting shapes of passing clouds. He's got himself up and dressed; leaning against the frame of the bedroom doorway where he stares absently at the sleeping blond on the bed. A piece of folded paper is gripped in his free hand.

Laying on his stomach across the mattress; Shizuo's torso his bare and Izaya can clearly make out each muscle dip and line down the man's back. He has his face pressed comfortably against the pillow he's got his arms buried under, and the sheets are shoved down around his waist. Under any other circumstance Izaya would find the sight endlessly appealing and sexy; he would probably even crawl over on the bed and initiate yet another fuck with the man. But not this time; it was past that point.

"I hate you."

His voice is whispered through the darkness from where it stands in the doorway; brows knitted together in a distressing fashion. His red-brown eyes are pained, as if merely looking at the other man produced a physically adhering effect. This was taking too much out of him – it needed to end; soon. The paper in his hand crinkled just a little as he tightened his grip.

"Shizuo," he murmured; not speaking that horrid nickname he knew the blond hated. Said man continued sleeping undisturbed. "I can't - …." Izaya has to stop for a moment, swallow thickly and collect his words along with his thoughts. "You really are making me insane."

Izaya moves to take a couple steps forward; making to get closer, to do something – he forces himself to stop before he can reach his intended destination. He stands silently in the dark room; illuminated only by the bluish-gray moonlight shining through the dingy solitary window near the bed. Retracing his steps, he bends down to grab up his favorite coat, only to smile sadly when he catches sight of the dark red blood staining the white fur trim.

Holding the article with one hand, he leans forward just a bit to set the scrap of paper he held on the bed, near his adversary's bare torso. He pulls back, making sure not to linger to long on his actions, as he moves to slip on his fur trimmed coat with minimal effort. Turning his back on the sleeping blond, Izaya grits his teeth for a moment as he stands still; breathing deeply before letting a forced and practiced grin cross his features.

Hands tightened into fists that left his knuckles white, contradicting the carefully placed mask on his face; Izaya walks calmly from Shizuo's apartment before he can loose his resolve.

.

* * *

_cause you cant finish what you start_

* * *

.

A soft groan of frustration emits from his lips against the chill against his skin; goosebumps on his arms. Cracking mocha eyes open irritatedly, Shizuo blinked hazily at the alarm clock on his nightstand, groaning at the numbers. He's so used to having to wake up early for work; even during his days off his body forces him up like some kind of sick habit he hated.

Growling a little, Shizuo grabs at the covers, pulling them up further on his bare torso; trying to rip off the cold, as well as the idea of getting up this early on his day off. He moves to lay on his side when a bit of crinkling catches his attention. Blinking to ward off his sleepiness, he furrows his eyebrows as he stares blankly at the bit of paper laying near his pillow.

Izaya is never there in the morning; they never fall asleep together. Their interactions typically consist of a rough fuck, followed by one of them ingesting a dose of something destructive on their bodies. Directly after getting his fix and fuck, Izaya is gone just as quickly as he came; but he's never once left a note of any kind.

Moving to adjust himself, propped up on his elbows while he lay on his stomach; Shizuo grabs at the scrap of paper and opens the single fold. He stares uncomprehendingly at the hasty scrawl; still remaining neatly printed despite their intent. Izaya was always a meticulous little bastard, after all.

_-I'm not playing this game anymore. You're making me crazy, and I hate you so much for it. I'm done, Shizuo.-_

Just like that; nothing furthermore written – not even a signature to signify formalities. Regardless of their mutual animosity, Shizuo can't stop the flood of anger that spreads through his system like fire. The scrap of paper is crushed in his hand; nerves making him shaky with aggression and mirrored hurt for what the brunet had implied.

They weren't in a relationship of any kind – there was never anything soft and sweet between them, but Shizuo still feels incredibly rejected and humiliated. It's almost like getting dumped, though there was never anything to get broken up from. In any case; he hated thinking of the fact that Izaya treated it like they could just stop – like he was the bigger man to end their twisted association.

"Stupid fucking maggot..." Shizuo growls to himself, and he he angrily balls the paper up in his fist before tossing it to another part of the room; lost amongst a mess of scattered clothes and liquor bottles.

Turning his back to the offending note; Shizuo shifts his pillow a little to better comfort him. He lets out a frustrated sigh before closing his mocha eyes.

He'd deal with this shit later. Izaya was a fucking moron if he thought he could end it all like this.

.

.

.

* * *

.

TBC

Please review and tell me what you think so far. I would love to hear from you.


	2. youre all pretension

...

_theres no escape for you except in someone else_  
_ although youve already disappeared within yourself_  
_ the invisible man who's always changing clothes_  
_ its all about taking the easy way out for you, i suppose_

_..._

_

* * *

_

.

The hotel room isn't really all that fancy, though the quality is pretty decent. He just wants somewhere to hide for a little bit – nothing too loud and obnoxious, he's not in it for the luxury this time around. It's pretty fucking pathetic that he has to check in under a false identity, but that's what happens when you're on the run from someone you hate, who in turn wants to murder you with a passion.

Izaya honestly can't even remember the last time he's stayed at a hotel; he's so used to sleeping in familiar beds – be it his own, or Shizuo's.

The thought of the blond's name makes him cringe involuntarily; it's still painful to think about. He lets out a bit of a frustrated sigh as he continues on his actions of crushing up percocet tablets into a finer and smoother form of powder, mixing the cut with the cocaine at it's side. Fluffing the substance up a bit with his credit card, he gently files it into two thins lines to be consumed; sliding the card across the flat, smooth surface of the mirror he brought with him.

His movements fall short for a moment as his phone begins to vibrate on the wooden table near his hand hovering over reflective glass, skidding about with each quiet ring. His heart drops a bit as the caller I.D reads of the name he so desperately wanted to avoid.

"Shit," Izaya murmurs to himself, lifting a hand to hover over the device for a brief moment before caving in on the fifth ring. Pressing the green button to accept the call, he swallows heavily as he brings the phone up to his ear with every sense the regret. He remains stony; not making any sort of sound in greeting, but the man on the other end speaks up for him, instead.

"_You think it's that easy, huh?"_ Shizuo questions on the other end of the line, the moment the call is accepted. _"What the fuck is wrong with you, Izaya? No – wait, don't answer that, because I already know the answer. You're such a fucking pathetic excuse for a person."_

The words are biting, cold and harsh and the brunet wishes more than anything that the man would break out yelling instead. Hearing the blond scream at him would be much easier to tolerate than this algid one.

"_You're going to pretend like this doesn't bother you, and I don't expect you to say anything to me because you're 'too good' for that, right? You're going to pretend that everything I'm saying is out of anger, but you know it's not. You destroy everything you touch, Izaya. You tear down and dismantle everyone – including yourself. You have no reason to be the sick freak you are, today; you destroyed yourself. _

"_You're a spoiled brat who took up self destruction, and you are your own worst enemy. You know this is all the truth, because I know you. You're a waste of human skin, Izaya. You're trash, and I believe it's impossible for you to connect with another person. You don't have the ability to_ _**feel**_ _like the rest of us do, and I hope to fucking God that you understand one thing..."_

At this point Izaya's hand is clutching at his cellphone; throat choking shut as he remains in a stony silence towards the insults being bellowed in his ear. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but everything Shizuo says is the complete and absolute truth; no shadowy grays hiding behind twisted lies.

"_No one will ever love you. No one. Do you hear me, Izaya? Not me, not the humans that you claim to adore; we all fucking hate you. You think you can walk away from all of this like it's no big deal, but in all honesty – you're weak. You're a coward and all you've done is run away from the problem instead of confronting it. You deserve to suffer."_

The call ends just like that, and Izaya finds himself holding his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone beep over and over, staring blankly at the arrayed lines of white powder before him. Something akin to a sigh falls from his lips as he slowly lowers his arm, idly remembering to hit the 'end' button before he carefully sets the small device back down on the table.

His movements are something fixed on automatic, and he feels completely empty inside. He wonders if Shizuo's words really effected him, or is he really was a fucking 'waste of human skin'. Too fucked up to even process or understand what his own feelings on the situation are. That is, if he even has any.

Lightly picking up the tiny straw he'd cut in half, Izaya leans his torso forward so his head is bent down. Aligning the bit of straw up with one of his nostrils and the beginning point to one of the lines; he keeps his mouth pressed firmly closed before he inhales sharply through his nose. He moves the straw up as the white powder quickly disappears.

Izaya breathes out as he quickly lifts himself up, scarlet eyes closed as he tips his head back a little bit against the slight burning that last a few moments too many. Sparing a slight glance at his cellphone, a bitter smile works it's way to his lips before he leans down to consume the second line of percocet mixed coke .

He has a plan.

.

* * *

_youre all pretension_

* * *

.

It's been over a week since he called Izaya.

Shizuo thinks about getting shit-faced tonight – it sounds about right given the current circumstances in his life. Work had been anticlimactic, save the way that Tom had commented on his physical appearance. One too many days without proper sleep combined with the stress and abuse he liked to put his body through.

Shizuo is still rather baffled as to why he was still managing to maintain his job; then again, his employer was also his closest friend so that certainly had to explain a lot with his current situation.

Some asshole bumps into him as he's walking home, and the small action alone is enough to make him turn and slug the guy across the face. Everything seems to put him on edge these days; but Shizuo thinks that he has all the reason in the world to be the way he is. He's sick of all the bullshit – fuck everyone else.

He's just outside his shitty apartment building when he see's the Calico pattering about near the entrance door. The little bowl he set out to give it food is empty, and the blond knows the cat is probably hungry judging by the way it looks at him with expectant eyes as it mewls. Shizuo makes a mental note to bring down something for it to eat, as he leans to to give it a brief scratch behind it's ears and it purrs contently at the action. He wonders to himself for a moment where the cat goes at nighttime – it's ranging close to winter time and pretty soon it would be freezing out when the sun goes down.

Shaking the thought off, Shizuo enters his apartment building with a heavy sigh and near resignation with the ways things are going to be. He lives on the sixth floor and the elevator has been broken since he moved in two years ago, but he's alright with that because he likes the added exercise. Physical exertion was just another one of the many ways that he liked to vent out his stress and anger. Truly it was the most healthy, as well.

Shizuo climbs the steps while he thinks of digging in his pockets for a cigarette, but he's low on cash and he doesn't really _need_ the smoke right now, so he decides it'd be better to wait.

He finances have been suffering even more lately, due to his excessive use of abusive substances. Makes him think about whether he'd wind up in rehab one day; he knows he's probably addicted to the many painkillers he uses, but he's never _not_ been on them long enough to prove an addiction though the display of withdrawal.

He can hear both a man and woman yelling in an apartment on his floor as he passes by, but he keeps to himself and simply ignores it. Calling the cops around these parts never does anything of use. His own housing is just a few doors down the hall, and the numbers on the paint are chipped and worn just like everything else in the building.

Lifting a hand through the automatic process, Shizuo loosens the bow-tie from his neck as he unlocks his door with his other hand. Entering into his dark apartment with minimal effort, he kicks the wooden frame just behind him before he turns to re-do all the locks and latches. He's had his shit stolen one too many times while he's been away at work, it's become something of a habit to always keep his doors locked and curtains drawn.

Walking further into the room with the cautious effort not to trip over any of the shit he knows he's tossed about, he flicks the light switch if only to revive a bit of light so he can tell just what in the hell he's doing. His body freezes for the briefest of moments as his eyes catch towards the body reclining on his sofa like he owns the goddamn place.

With a bottle of half empty liquor in one hand, Izaya glares over at him with a sharp red gaze, legs crossed as he remains in a stony silence. Shizuo stares at the brunet for a few beats before promptly ignoring him as he continues to strip away the vest on his uniform, pretending no to care that his object of affliction was so carelessly lounging in his living room.

"You really are a monster, Shizu-chan." The words come out a bit heavy, and the blond can tell right away that the informant is drunk, though he's not so far gone as to slur his words. He's on the fast track towards it, however. "You're nothing close to human – you're body; regular people can't do the things you can. You're not human and you never will be – especially with the way you act."

Tossing his vest on the reclining chair near the couch that Izaya occupies, Shizuo clenches his jaw in irritation as he fully turns to look at the man. The brunet looks just as worn down as himself; shadows around his eyes as though he hasn't slept in a week – which likely sounds about right, considering the timing.

The informants words are so sharp and biting, but they don't hurt nearly as much as Shizuo knows the man wishes they would. Izaya isn't thinking clearly enough to really make any insults that cut deeper than the mere surface.

He's not wearing his fur trimmed jacket which Shizuo finds rather odd, but he chooses not to comment on it as he listens to the informant tear him down. He spots the man's girly looking coat hanging over the armrest of the couch at his side; forgotten.

"Telling me 'no one will love me'... Are sure you're not just displacing your own insecurities on me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you? Fucking – _monster_... heh heh ha ha ha..." Izaya tilts his head back against the couch as he laughs, but he watches the blond with a cutting red gaze out of the corner of his eyes.

Shizuo still doesn't seem affected by his words; face stoic and impassive and it's pissing Izaya off. He want's him to get mad – to lash out and prove him right in his theories of the man. But as always, the brute never acts according to his script. Always re-writing the scenes and playing them out methodically.

Instead of gracing the informant with the response he knew the man was looking for, Shizuo slips off his blue tinted sunglasses and gently sets them on the end table. He tries extra hard to make sure he looks calm and together; even if tense anger was warring on his insides. He knew the brunet was too drunk to even notice something like that, though.

Izaya trails off in his laughter, expression sobering to an extent as he glares hatefully at the blond on the other side of the room. He didn't think it's possible to hate someone as much as he hates that man. His animosity towards the man borders somewhere between obsession and homicidal; part of him wants the blond to live forever, whilst the other part wants to slaughter and maim him dead. Rip his corpse apart until he looked nothing like the handsome blond Izaya knows him as.

Tightening his grip on the neck of the liquor bottle, barely a minute passes of silence before Izaya growls out in anger, chucking the bottle at Shizuo with all of the strength that he can muster. The blond manages to to side-step just in time before it slams into his face; sailing past him where the glass shatters on the wall behind him, slicking the sharp scent of vodka across the plaster and floor.

When he looks back to the informant, he finds the brunet now standing and holding his flick-blade out before him, stance placed as though he's warring between offense and defense.

"I hate you, so – _so_ much, Shizu-chan." The brunet spits with a seething disgust. Some sick part of Shizuo finds this all amusing; he wonders if Izaya would even be able to land a hit on him in his intoxicated state.

He's almost tempted to test it all out; to step forward and punch the man – purposefully initiate a fight just so he could have the thrill of getting to beat the shit out of the man while he's too pissed drunk to fight back properly. Shizuo doesn't really have what people often refer to as 'honor' or 'morals' – especially not when it comes to a fucking maggot like Izaya.

Shizuo remains still despite his adversary's disposition, but non-the-less keeps his eyes trained on the blade as he awaits the informants next move. Whether this was going to be a fight or not, the blond can't deny the sense of exhilaration that tickles up his spine as he thinks about all the times the man has cut him – sliced up and bleeding while they fuck relentlessly. There's definitely something wrong with him, if seeing a blade turns him on. Maybe he really is the sadomasochist the informant often referred to him as.

Izaya's in the middle of saying something; blabbering away and Shizuo doesn't realize it until the other raises his voice. He's too focused on the knife the brunet's holding to really think properly, but the informant doesn't really notice his suddenly shift in temperament. The man's ability of reading people is shit when's he's intoxicated. It's all laughably funny, in a disturbing sort of way, to be honest.

"-uck you, Shizuo." It's hearing the brunet speak seriously; not cursing that horrid nickname that draw's the blond's attention back to the situation at hand.

Izaya lowers his hand, the switchblade disappearing into the pocket of his pants as his bright crimson eyes seethe all of the hate he has bottled up inside. Shizuo keep's his eyes trained on the informants face; curiosity winning his interest as the brunet falls silent for a few moments. The sparks of pure unadulterated loathing deem something of their ballad.

"You know," the informant starts as he takes a step closer. "... you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

The words hurt more than they should, and Shizuo finds himself locking down a bit inside as the brunet walks past him, making to exit his apartment. He continues to stare at the spot that Izaya was standing – yelling insults at him just minutes before, and the sound of the door slamming shut does nothing to alter his attention.

He's not sure what he's supposed to be feeling; it was a bit of a jumbled mess.

.

* * *

_i never pay attention_

* * *

.

It's sometime close to 4am when his phone goes off.

Shizuo had made decent on his previous plans that night; he's trashed himself with a mix of alcohol and painkillers, something his system had built up against to keep from overdosing on the hazardous combination. Over the years of abusing his own body, he's developed something akin to a stomach made of iron for these types of substances.

He didn't even manage to make it to his bed, tonight; finding himself sprawled across the couch instead, with his face pressed into the fur trimmed jacket that Izaya had left behind. He can still smell the informants scent clinging to the material; rousing his obsession. He couldn't stop thinking about that stupid fucking maggot, whether it be in a good light, or nothing but a hostile anger. Izaya is just on his mind, regardless.

His phone is laying somewhere on the floor within arms reach, and he blindly grabs out until his fingers wrap around the noisy device with the intent of throwing it across the room until it stops ringing. But somewhere amongst the fog in his brain, he takes a moment and glances that the screen to see who was calling him. Seeing the name of the one person he'd been obsessing over, Shizuo's thumb pressed 'accept' before he even realizes what he's doing; sealing his own fate.

Having no alternative, and lifts the phone to his ear as he makes a small grunt in greeting; still much too trashed to do any form of intellectual verbalization. There's a lot of distorted music and laughter on the other end of the line, and Shizuo blinks as he furrows his eyebrows, now much more intrigued as to what the hell was going on.

_"Ne, Shizu-chaaaan – guess where I am right now? Haaah – ah ha ha ha!"_

Bracing an arm against the back of his sofa, Shizuo pushes himself up into a sitting position as he emits his full attention to the voice speaking on the other end. The one he loathes with every fiber of his being, yet still unable to break attachments from. The person who is the exception to every rule and boundary in his life.

_"Hey, baby – wanna pay for the full-"_

_"-zu-chaan! Having a greaaaat time! Hahaha!"_

There are mixed voices; he can hear Izaya's clear laughter and drunken slurs along with a rather seductive sounding female as she so obviously purred to the brunet on the other line. It barely lasts more than about twenty seconds before the call abruptly falls dead, and the Shizuo is left glaring at the device in his hand as if awaiting for some form of clarity as to what the fuck that was about. It comes a moment or two later, though this time in the form of a message rather than another confusing call.

Clicking the message open, mocha eyes narrow exceptionally at the picture displayed on the screen of the cellphone. It was obviously taken from Izaya's point-of-view; showing down towards a cute female stripper looking up from between his legs. Before he'd even had time to process the information, several more pictures are sent all at once, filling him in on just what the maggot was up to.

Glimpses; the interior of a strip club, of pretty men and women dressed scantily as they serviced him in such a provocative manner.

Shizuo's never felt so fucking pissed off in his life.

Who the hell did Izaya think he is? It was like a passive-aggressive act of revenge on his part – hitting below the belt rather than speaking it out verbally, but then Shizuo realizes that it's so very like him. Of course the informant would react in a manner such as this; raises the stakes whilst diminishing his own dignity. It was pathetic to even think about, but it figures that he would alter the playing field in such a way.

Izaya always was a coward; the little fucking cockroach who's too afraid to confront things head-on, so he hides behind lies and pawns – always sending someone out on the front lines, while he manipulates the scene from far away. Shizuo has never wanted to snap the mans neck as much as he does now; anything to end this destructive charade.

He's going to make that fucking maggot pay for all of this shit.

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* * *

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TBC

please tell me what you think. reviews are what keep me updating.


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